Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands.
And I love the ground whereon she stands.

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes.
I whish the day it soon [bad word] When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde 
and I mourn and weep
For satisfied I never can be
I'll write her a letter, 
just a few short lines
And I owe death a thousand times

Black is the color of my [bad word] love's hair
Her lips are like red roses fair 
She has the sweetest smile 
and the gentlest hands.
And I love the ground whereon she stands.